


Sick Beats For Lost Breaths

by Imriel_Montreve



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Minor Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imriel_Montreve/pseuds/Imriel_Montreve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Egbert and you worship the ground the DJ Dave Strider walks on, his sick beats taking every single one of your breaths away. Somehow you managed to convince one Miss Rose Lalonde to go with you to see one of his Secret Shows. When she ditches you, you wind up in a bar. What are you doing with life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Beats For Lost Breaths

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my friend Maddie who changes her effing URL too much. Sorry this took so long to write...

Sick Beats For Lost Breaths

  
It felt good. The worn steering wheel beneath your fingers, the jank CD player starting up on his song, you could lose yourself. Each beat thrummed through your heart and rattled in your chest, synchronicity of the sweet pulsations. You loved him, his sick beats, his ego that was forced through in all his songs. You knew each note, scratch, remix, each que of his voice mechanized and turned robotic and heartless. He was so cold, eyes always hidden behind those black shades. You idolized him. You worshiped him. He was your god among humans, reaching out solely to you.

  
“The fuck are we listening to?”

  
John Egbert snapped from reverie and found his gaze shifting from the road to the black-painted lips of Rose Lalonde.

  
His hands pattered nervously against the steering wheel of his banged up Chevy, trying to avoid Rose’s gaze lest she see his blush.

  
“It’s uh, this prick DJ who’s pretty popular in the underground. Striding or some shit.”

  
 _Strider, and he is immaculate._

  
“He sounds like mutated cats in a blender.” Rose jammed a well-manicured finger into the SEEK button on his broken stereo. “Man, it just gets worse.”

  
Nursing his wounded pride, John figured this was as good a time as any to pop the question.

  
“Well, he’s having a secret show…” John could feel Rose rolling her eyes. “I kinda wanted to catch it while we were up in New York.”

  
Rose could see John’s dork boy nerves coming out, the nervous fiddling of his hands, the hunched shoulders, the sheen of sweat, damn, what had his briefs in a twist? She punched a wad of pink through her black lips with her tongue and chewed thoughtfully on her piece of gum.

  
“I guess. I’d have to say I’m perturbed at the type of crowd someone like him,” that dainty nose shriveled up in a sheer, “would attract. Think of it as a sociology experiment.”  
A fit of Elation spiked through John and he sat up a little straighter in his seat. “Oh thank you, Rose! You know, we could pick up chicks together---“  
Rose shot him a dark glance that derailed that train ASAP.

He hunkered down a bit. “Right… we don’t talk about that…”

  
The rest if their car ride was punctuated by awkward silence to the bass of DJ Strider’s illest beats.

  
%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%

  
“Tch. You didn’t tell me this silent show was the same night we got in, idiot.”

  
Rose was on the foot of their hotel bed sliding on a pair of black and white stockings to complete her raiment as she and John got ready to hit the nights’ gig only a mere half hour after they arrived in New York. She was never going to take a road trip with this fool again, no matter how lonely or desperate he was, and no matter that she was his only friend. Well, she couldn’t stay mad at that bucked tooth grin.

  
“Secret, and I wanted it to be a surprise. I figured it would go over better.”

  
Rose couldn’t see John, but from the occasional break in his voice and the whine of an aerosol can, she guessed he was fixing his hair.

  
“You have no idea how many people I had to follow on Tumblr to find out about this show and all the shit I’ve seen.”

  
Oh, Rose was sure she could fathom; she had her share of DOM and solo tags and the blogs that housed them.

  
But no one needed to know that.

  
John stepped out from the bathroom. “Well, how do I look?”

  
The teen was clad in ass-hugging azure pants that matched a blue scarf he had tossed around his shoulders, over a tight, v-neck baby blue tee. Damn, Rose had to steel herself against the urge to barf there was so much of the cool-toned hue. Although, it did go with his deep sapphire eyes that were brought out by his dark framed glasses.

  
“Like hell,” she said, rising to muss his hair. “Why do you always style it so messy?”

  
“Hey!” he ducked away from her touch in defense of his mane. “It looks sexy all tousled! Like I rolled out of bed!”

  
“You look like a douche.”

  
Well, she had said it, but with a sigh Rose stopped messing with his hair and settled back on the bed. John took in her outfit, starting with her stripped stockings and combat boots and working his way up to her purple mini skirt and black tube top combo. Hell, for a B-cup she had some sexy curves, and her black mouth made her look like some vixen, no, harpy out to shred souls. Fine.

  
Shaking himself of those thoughts, he trounced forward and licked his thumb and forefinger. “Here,” he straightened out her short bangs with his wet finger tips, “now you’re already, too.”

  
Rose supposed that it was a little endearing of him, but that didn’t stop the roll of disgust that ran through her when he rubbed spit in her hair.  
“Let’s go.”

  
%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%**%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%

  
“Nn, Rose, I can’t believe I let you talk me into wearing eyeliner!” John whined and rubbed at his eyes self-consciously.

  
Rose swatted his hand away. “Stop. You’re going to smudge it. Besides, it’s not like it made your outfit any gayer, especially after you put on those buttercream ankle boots.”  
John paused midstride and propped his hands on his hips. “I am not a homosexual.”

  
Blonde eyebrows knit together and black lips met in a tight line.

  
“Right…” John ducked his head and scraped his feet down the sidewalk; he needed to choose his words more carefully around that flighty broad.

  
“Are you sure this is the right place? It’s vacant. I’d expect a line or crowd or something.” Rose cocked one of her hips out and blew an aggravated bubble.

  
“I’m sure, Rosie. Just trust me.”

  
John pulled her down a back alley, trying not to let his nerves get to him. He was going to see Strider, his turn-table hero. John hadn’t had butterflies like this since Con Air re-released on remastered DVD, but Strider was so much more than Nic Cage. The teen had a full on no-homo fanboy crush on the DJ, and he was going to burst.

  
They found their way to a rusted out door that had they not been looking for, it would have passed unnoticed. John banged on it four times, the first and last knocks slow and deliberate, cut by two rapid, light thuds. Rose cringed when the high grate of metal on metal split the quiet air, a small shaft of light now spilling from a new opening in the door.

  
A gruff voice come from inside, distinctly black. “Password.”

  
John mustered every ounce of masculinity---which wasn’t a whole lot---in an attempt to mask his high voice. “LOHAC.”

  
The heavy door swung inward and John pulled Rose in behind him past a six-foot-two man with a small plate nametag labeled “Zahhak.”

  
Once they were inside, they could see slightly better. A throng of densely packed bodies crammed into a sick looking industrial apartment in a pit below a raised stage. John wove them through the sweat and stench of sex and candy, spiced with alcohol in the bloody-washed room. He placed them in the epicenter, feeling the tension of the crows, thrumming with eager vibes and eyes glancing to the red lighted stage waiting for Strider to show himself. The whole club had this machine feel to it, intensified by the sweltering heat of so many bodies crammed together.

  
“When does this start?” There was a slight yell to Rose’s voice as she struggled to talk to John over the chattering voices.

  
Without looking at her, John raised his voice as well. “At 11:39!”

  
It was close, John could feel the methodical thrum of bass running though the floor, measuring each beat through the soles of his feet. His heart ticked up in excitement, breaths materializing faster. The blood red lights went out, their life source snuffed, and a cry went up through the crowd. John’s nails sank into the beds of his hands as he quivered where he stood; it was him, his idol, his god.

  
Strider descended in a super-fly hush hush, dark shades glowing with the blazing adoration from his fans, reflecting their hopes and dreams, holding all their fantasies on a thread. There was connection, and John fell hard. His lips parted as Strider opened his mouth to set off the tsunami of bodies grinding around John. Music thundered in them in a slow motion singular burst, and then, he sang.

  
 _‘I used to be dictated, ‘till the Armageddon happened.’_

  
It was John’s song, his favorite song Turntech Godhead, the one he sang himself to sleep to, the one that he allowed himself to stop and break down in. His lips matched with Strider’s, a mirror of their soliloquy. This was their life in a song, connected for just this one night.

  
 _‘I still believe though, in my heart so long as it keeps thumping the righteous beat.’_

  
He was alone, alone in the crowd, alone in this dream bubble Strider blew off sugared lips just for him. John grazed his fingers down his throat, sore from singing along, and pressed the pads into his sternum. Ba-dump, ba-dump. His heart thumped against Strider’s beats, his chest heaving. He inhaled, taking in all of Strider, letting himself go. It was like pleasure surging through his body and pooling in his core. His stomach and heart were connected like a planet and its moon by this chain. It felt like adulation on fire and bludgeoned with lust, something he had craved but would never let himself have.

  
 _‘Subwoofing out devotion every which way, that he will come.”_

  
John’s hands glided lower, feeling the hot coals his god stirred in his stomach. Louder and louder, Strider filled him, his beats bounding through each fiber in john. He was expanding inside, his soul infinite and complete, multifaceted as he received all of his god’s gifts.

  
 _‘Our savior, was foretold he’d come after meteors show up to drop it like it’s hot.”_

  
John’s pale lips were no longer moving in syllables and song. He moaned gently as he swayed on his feet, swooning, falling, collapsing into all that Strider had to offer. His words were so pure, so deep, his world was complete. Strider sang for him, spoke into his self-same depth and whispered sweet-nothings, bringing John to brush against the edge. His eyes opened, blue and glowing with lost light, and Strider leaned forward and growled into the crowd, thrusting his voice into John as he finished.

  
 _‘And he’d gather up the ashes of our civilization and lift it like its heavy.”_

  
Strider held John in his hands, his shattered little self, his awkward, dorky teenage years. All the bad, all the rejection, Strider took those ashes and cast them into the cold wind and healed John anew. He was whole beneath Strider’s cloaked gaze, he felt pure.

  
The night had only just begun.

  
%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%

  
“What!?”

  
John stared in disbelief at his SUPPOSED friend hand-in-hand with some dark headed pale chick in green lipstick. “You’re just running off and leaving me?”

  
Rose turned more into her new lady friend, practically drooling and inhaling her skin. “John, I said I’ll meet up with you at the room. You’re a big boy. Here,” she fished a wad of cash out of her cleavage, which made the other girl chuckle into her hand. “Go buy some cheap porn and have a good time, my treat.”

  
“Gee, thanks.” John grumbled but fisted the wad into his pants anyways. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

  
By the time John looked up for Rose’s reply the blonde was already weaving back through the crowd with her date. Gosh, John couldn’t get a girl to like him, much less even talk to him, and here Rose snagged one on the first try. They must have like, Gay ESP or something.

  
John grumbled to himself as he himself began to trudge through the mesh-like crowd. Tonight should be the best damn night of his life – he had practically come listening to Strider – and he should be happy! Deep down, however, he couldn’t shake this feeling of being alone. His best friend had ditched him in lieu of a booty call. They were probably mallemaroking over some snooty champagne – even though Rose was so the type to get shit faced off of Hand-Grenades – and doing kinky shit with each other, like piercing each other’s clits with agraffe of the wine bottle.

  
As hard as he tried to remain angry, there was something about that last comment that left him with nausea and half a hard on. He was done.

  
%*%%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*

  
 _"You're horny, let's do it, ride it---"_

  
How had he ended up here... The bodies, the shitty lighting, the suffocating burn of cheap hand rolled cigarettes, it was making his head throb harder than it already had. But then John smelled the alcohol-spiked self-loathing around him and settled in. He was going to get hella blitzed tonight.

  
"Hey, Chief, vwhat can I getcha?"

  
John looked up into at the John Travolta knock off of a bartender, gnawing on the end of an unlit cig. The guy was jonesing the greaser look waaay too hard for this type of club, even John could see that.

  
"Um, fuck, uh, a---" he was faltering. John didn't know any alcoholic beverages! His father was a Baptist t-totaller who had never touched a drop in his life! Rose's mom drank... What was it--- "Cosmo!"

Bullets, please cease expelling from sweat glands, k thx.

  
The bartender let a lazy smirk drift into his milky blue eyes. "Don't drink much, do ya kid? Lemme see some ID."

  
John smiled and slipped his hand into his pocket--- where the fuck was it? Oh shit.

  
Oh sweet motherless shit.

  
Of all the shit that could have happened, John Egbert left his fake ID in the cleavage of one Miss Rose Lalonde, who insisted he leave his dorky Ghost Busters wallet in their room.

  
"Yo, Cro, cut him a break. He's with me."

  
That voice...

  
John's gaze flicked to the warm hand snaking out beside him, connected to an arm clad in the most posh red tuxedo, caging him against a warm chest, rasping against his back with each push of sweet, apple perfumed breath.

  
This couldn't be, life didn't happen like this! John eased around slowly, twisting in the barstool to look up into the deep, infinite depths of DJ Strider's sweet obsidian shades.  
"Oh my god," fell uncouth from his pink lips, voice undoubtedly sounding like he was coming.

  
John Egbert was the very epitome of uncool in this instance, any pretense or guise he had built up crumbling away as his idol crashed into his wake.

  
Strider went unfazed as he procured ID and a twenty out of his sleeve and slid it in the bartender's direction. "Let's me cover it."

  
You were choking on tongue and stammering a thousand senseless niceties, thank yous, and refusals, tripping and completely beside yourself.

  
"Suit yourself, blondie, buy you gotta deal with Meenah if she catches me servin' alcohol to that kid." The bartender stepped off and went to serve the other patrons and you were now alone with your idol.

  
Jesus fuck.

  
"Yo." Strider had just told you _Yo_.

  
"Um, hi," you manage, squeaking. "I'm a huge fan, I uh, went to your show tonight."

Strider smirked and toyed with the stem of the Cosmo that you didn't notice was placed in front of you. "I know. I saw you there. That is a damn bright blue you have on."

  
Great, you could feel even the tips of your ears flush at that. Not even Rose could make you feel this self-conscious. You have to respond, quickly, though. You would die if Strider thought you were an idiot and incapable of speaking.

  
"Blue's my favorite color," you spit out. Wow. Smooth fucking move Egderp.

  
What even was this? Why in all seven rings of hell was Strider, his Immaculate Imperial God, speaking to you? How could you even bear to look up at that stoic face wreathed in that messy, perfectly-straight-incapable-of-looking-bad-EVER hair, crowned with shades that hid what had to be unfathomed orbs capable of turning you to mush with one glance.

  
"It's a good color on you. So, what are you? 18?"

  
He was questioning you. He knew you didn't belong here and had covered for you. This wasn't real, and your heart needed to stop palpitating like that right NOW before something busted and you keeled over right there. Whatever god was drowning you in favor right now you swore you'd start praying to them immediately.

  
"I'm uh, actually I'm 17, thank you so much for covering for me I was just pretty bummed out and---"

  
Your over compensatory paranoia nervous monologue caught in your dry throat when Strider made a noise that you would have SWORN was of approval when telling him your age.

  
"This is all just so amazing, I mean, I idolize you, you're, you're my god!"

  
You cannot. Just. Fucking. Believe. You. Blurted. That.

  
Oh god you were fucking everything up just like always and you ruined what could be the most amazing encounter of your life because you're a stupid good for nothing nerd with bucked teeth and thick glasses who can't think straight long enough to even mumble out a coherent sentence.

  
You just wanted to die. You made a fool of yourself in front of the one man whose music you could fall into and forget just how much life sucked sometimes.

  
Just as tears were working their way into your eyes Strider shifted, but not away, closer.

  
He had just gotten closer to you.

  
Your ear buzzed with the heat of his words. "How about a little worship then?"

  
You could feel your lids stretch away from your eyes at the implications, and you downright _squealed_ when... His hand...

  
Cupped.

  
Your.

  
 _Groin._

  
Oh god what was even happening right now? You weren't gay, you know you weren't gay, but this was DJ DAVE godfucking STRIDER who held your heart on a thin string and toyed with it like a goddamn Yo-Yo and he was massaging four fingers of fuck-that-feels-good against your dick.

  
Little did he know there was one. Thin. Layer. Between his hand and your bare skin, underwear forsaken with your jeans being so tight they should be illegal in fifty states and Mexico for the amazing things they did to your ass.

  
"Ah, Strider--" did you have any right to say, moan his name the way you were?

  
"You moan like a virgin."

  
You looked up into Strider's hidden face, his smirk wide enough just to reveal a glimmer of impossibly white teeth. This wasn't happening. You weren't being picked up in a BAR by your IDOL who you just realized had a kink for minors.

  
And you were one fucking lucky minor.

%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*

You remember blurting you had a hotel room. You remember him pulling you into a taxi and practically eating your neck.

  
And here you were now on top of Rose's bed being stripped by Dave Strider.

  
You had kicked off your own shoes when you two had stumbled in the door, and he had unwound your scarf and SET it aside rather than tossing, meaning he knew exactly where it was.

  
You couldn't help the fantasies that your slap happy mind was making, him tying you up, you completely helpless. God it would feel fucking amazing and – 

  
"You alright there, Kid?" Strider shifted his mile long legs and straddled your lap, wiry fingers coaxing the hem of your shirt up, teasing your flushed skin and giving you chills. "John?"

  
God your name rolling of his tongue, your idol's siren voice crooning out your namesake, the word that identified you. It was too much. 

"Tie me up, Dad--!" 

  
At this point 99.999% of your blood flow was being redirected more awesome parts of your body, leaving your brain and mouth to blurt out what ever lame snippet of pillow talk that came to mind. God you were so fucking stupid!

  
"That was hot. I can work with daddy issues." 

  
Your gaping mouth was hidden as Strider pulled your shirt over your head. You shivered involuntarily as the cool rush of air on skin made every inch of you perk, to which Strider took apparent delight. 

  
He, he was giving, taking, so much and you were more than willing to give him everything. 

  
But still, innate in every human, you wanted to take too. 

  
With evidently trembling hands, you brought his face to you, touching his shades. You'd never seen a single picture with them off, he never interviewed without them, never performed without him, they were a part of the Strider package. 

  
And he was letting you take them off. Here you were holding this small metal framed fragment of his personality so delicate in your hands, breathless as you watched his dark eyebrows arch over deep brown eyes so saturated they were carmine in the low lamplight. He was beautiful; there was no other way to express that. 

  
He blinked softly a few times, adjusting. 

  
"Wow," was all you could breathe. Wow. Wow. Wow.

  
He smiled, the motion crinkling up into his eyes. "I don't take those off very much."

  
And you can't help yourself because this is just so amazing and you're throwing your arms around his neck and crashing your lips together in your first real kiss, hoping to hell he can't read your inexperience. It's like everything you ever imagined your first kiss to be, warm and soft, tasting so sweet, like burned sugar, all heat and stickiness. Strider had the burn of alcohol lingering in his mouth from your Cosmo he had downed, and it rasped against your taste buds in a pleasant manner. He pinned you beneath his heavy body, pressing every inch of his lean form into your lanky build. The sheer contact was enough to get you high and you hadn't realized **JUST** how good human, physical contact could feel. It was better than an expensive massage, like the one you had gotten after the bright idea of manning up and trying out for the football team had wrecked your body. Your muscles all relaxed to let Strider in, cradling him and holding on as he explored and touched every inch of your mouth, drowning you in the pleasure of being wanted. You felt so hot you could melt right there, hollow out into a shell of your former self because you honestly didn't know how you would ever be right without this amazing intensity. 

  
He rutted his groin against your thigh, and WOW that was a really amazing way of expressing that you were getting him going too, that he wanted and craved you just as much as you did him. 

  
"Tie you up, huh?" Strider smirked, arching up to reach your scarf.

  
Wrist over wrist he tied you tenderly, albeit tightly, and you wriggled against your bonds, arms stretched high over your head. Your body was bared to him, on display, and his eyes slid over you like a sacrifice just for him. 

  
"Ah," you whimper, "um, my, my pants."

  
Your pants were prison for you straining dick and you would swear up and down you've never been this hard before in your life. 

  
"You're packing some heat there, kid." Strider's melodic voice was tinted with a tad bit of a chuckle. "But I'm not ready to play yet."

  
His mouth moved over your fly and the hot press of his breath seeping through the thin fabric of your pants was enough to make you buck upwards. His mouth, his deft tongue, worked at the button and zipper of your pants and you gave an inward hiss at the sweet release of pressure as your shaft was freed. 

  
Strider slinked his way back up, contenting himself with a sharp collar bone. You moaned and tossed your head back, completely at his mercy. He moved lower, nuzzling against your pec until his mouth latched on and he set about running his tongue over one of your perked nubs, drawing a complete whimper from you. The pleasure at this point had you fully disassembled, making you a mess of high whines and grabbing hands, tangling in Strider's hair, bound arms locking him against you. 

  
"Undress," you whimper, "please," and it's enough to get him to growl in some hunger at the tone of your voice. 

  
He slips from your arms, a huge loss in your play book, but that was more than made up for when Strider began to strip. That red tuxedo top slid in cloying grace down his long arms, and the urge to grab him by his white tie and drag him close again was overwhelming. Instead you were bound and wanting to be gagged, watching this epic strip tease unfold before you. 

  
Strider discarded his vest quickly, deft fingers busting down the line of pearly buttons that kept his cream expanse of skin hidden. The slash of blood was tossed away too, exposing pale skin. He wasn't sickly or off white like you, he was a milky porcelain, flushed with the strong thrum of his aroused blood, bronzed softly from evident exposure to the sun. His hue was fire lit peach flesh, burned white from intense flames while still clasping onto the blushing undertones. 

  
His hands found the clasp of his slacks, all tight and defining and doing superb things to the muscular curves of his ass. You sat up more, wanting to be the one stripping him, to be awarded the first glimpse of his arousal. The very arousal that was swollen for you.

   
He was unceremonious, his pants left to fall from his slender frame. His tight boxers did little to hide the massive protrusion of the erection he was sporting, and you were practically salivating over the fantasies of just how good that would feel inside. 

  
Homo says what?

  
"What are you waiting for? Come here and let me touch you." You are basically pleading at this point, completely sucked into your own arousal with no room for reservation. 

  
"Damn that eagerness is hot, Kid, but there's some stuff we gotta take care of before we lose ourselves to this."

  
You are utterly confused at this point and afraid to ask. All that self-confidence and bravado popped like that and here you were, naked on your friend’s bed, waiting to have your virgin ass fucked by your god and having no clue how that would actually happen. 

  
You had bit off with those bucked teeth way more than you could chew this time, Egbert. 

  
Strider let out a hard laugh. "You look like a frightened deer. I'm just talkin' condoms and lube here."

  
You try to hide your sigh of relief. You thought, well you don't know exactly what you were thinking. "I have, I have those things in my suitcase."

  
You sit up, a little of balance with your wrists tied, but you manage. 

  
You brought condoms and other various items in anticipation of scoring, but when it came down to it you didn't have enough of that male bravado to jam one in your pocket when you went out. The fear of Rose's judgment had been entirely too strong. 

  
“Here, I’ll get it. Just tell me where.”

  
Oh wow were you making that big of a fool of yourself that Strider didn’t think you were capable of mundane tasks? Were you that painful to watch?

  
He must’ve noticed the soft pout you gave, that you didn’t even KNOW you gave, because his tone when he spoke again was consoling. “You’re just a little, preoccupied at the moment, babe. Besides, I wanna lube you up.” The way Strider ended that was almost possessive and both your heart and your dick gave a little twitch in joy and pure arousal.

  
You nodded just barely, eyes wide as the lean movements of Strider’s muscles beneath his skin, stretching and coiling as he slid down onto his knees before your messy suit case. Before tonight you wouldn’t have even thought a person could be self-conscious of a SUITCASE, but here you were paranoid over what Strider thought of your haphazard, trashed bag with strewn clothes from where you got ready earlier. What would he say about your nerdy tee-shirts? About your shorts, all the hair products you had in there, oh sweet jegus you hoped he didn’t find your allergy meds.

  
“These are hot,” Strider commented, making you jump. He was dangling a pair of your briefs off his index finger, your favorite red pair trimmed in white.

  
You manage to mumble a thanks before you yelp as he comes back up, lube in hand. This is happening, this is going to happen, oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh…

  
“Relax, Kid, Daddy’s got this.”

  
When Strider came back up to the bed he had a strip of condoms in his hand, working on tearing one off. You rocked up off your back and onto your heels, tucking them under your rear and rising to greet him almost anxiously. You watched his fingers play over the blue foil package, tossing aside the rest.  
Safe sex with a male hadn't really been in the fore front of your mind -- wait, back that statement right the fuck up. There had been no thoughts of having relations with a man because you were not a homosexual, right?

  
Oh just give it up already. Your dick standing at attention and the precum saluting Strider were enough to do you in. Let's focus on the more immediate issues.  
Strider had probably had more partners than were countable on all ten fingers, so it was a good thing he was using protection right? The implications of that thought had a little more guilt -- how could a disciple think his god defiled? -- and embarrassment than was stomachable, so it was put away.

  
However, one aspect reared itself bright in your mind: Strider was experienced. You were a virgin.

  
You desperately searched for anything that would keep that thought at bay, and thusly locked a heat seeking gaze on your target: Strider's hands.

"Let me do that!"

  
"Huh?" There was a soft twinge of an accent in his voice when he spoke.

  
"The, uh, condom. Let me put it on you..."

  
Wow that was at the top of the list of stupid ideas you've had tonight, he's probably going to think---

  
"Sure."

  
You picked your jaw up just in time to catch the foil square he tossed to you, Lady Luck smiling on you and your body cooperating enough to allow you to catch it with your two bound hands, minimal fumble.

  
"C-come here," you breathe softly, burning out the small shot of confidence your prior manly display of athleticism lent.

  
Strider sauntered over to you and you weren't even sure how that word got into your vocabulary but it sure fit the lazy way your god ambled over to you, all long legs and rolling hips. His thighs met the edge of the bed and the slight bump of your Adam's apple bobbed when you swallowed once.

  
Twice.

  
Thrice.

  
Because now Strider's dick was in your face, flushed and straining. Little tremors ran through your fingers and you glared down at the condom wrapper.

  
You felt a hand in your hair and looked up into Strider's mahogany gaze. "Here ya go, Kiddo. Make Daddy feel good."

  
Breath hitching you split the wrapper open in point-two milliseconds.

  
It was hard to tear away from his immaculate gaze, but you found resolve to do so in you when he began to card his fingers through baby soft tousles of your hair. His touch was firm and reassuring, and you couldn’t believe that in any situation someone's hand on your head could me that comforting. It was something that you knew once you had, you would always miss, crave even, like some sort of physical expression of "I'm proud of you."

  
When Strider gave a soft moan, you opened your eyes -- though you weren't sure when you had closed them or when you had arched into his touch -- and realized you had been panting against the head of his sex. You took the time to stare at the bead of arousal growing heavy at his tip and cautiously flicked your tongue out to clear it away.

  
His taste was an overwhelming musk of salt and something uniquely Strider. Not that you had much to compare it to, but the strong taste was tolerable. The sloppy lap of your tongue made his legs jolt as though a shot of electricity surged through him, but other than that Strider maintained his signature composure as he watched you.

  
After roughly jerking one of your wrists out of the scarf-noose, the forgotten condom was picked back up and you hoped to hell you could do this fluidly; fumbling at a time like this -- touching him -- would surely mean death. An over exaggerated mental image of you whipping out a ridiculous anime katana and committing Seppuku entertained you briefly before you fit the cover at his tip, immediately feeling his radiating heat through the slick material. You ran through a repartee of strategies before settling and deciding making a ring of your hand was the best was of going about outfitting Strider for war. Your hand slid down easy and he was thick and hot to the touch. His pulse thrummed in full beats, his boiling blood rising to flush his skin. You faintly registered sliding down to the hilt when your smallest finger brushed where the dip of his stomach meshed flush with the base of his sex. Fingers splayed, he still rose a few inches over your hand, a sight that made liquid heat well through your entire lower half.

  
"Mm, move your hand a little," Strider purred, and you glanced up to see his head fall back, accentuating the sharp curve of his collar bones. His very kissable collar bones.  
You rose, hand working him in tight, slow pulls, and licked at his clavicle and hooked your free arm around his neck. You drew groans from him. You made him arch into your touch.

  
You glorified your god and he attenuated to you, pulling your head back by your hair to claim your mouth, sweet tongue teasing yours in a deep mockery of a kiss while you milked him slowly.

  
You were pushed back gently onto the bed with a low growl. "Daddy's turn."

  
His toned words made you arch with a moan, more heat dispelling through you and concentrating in your groin.

  
Strider crawled over you, his weight causing the abused hotel mattress to dip. Something cool rolled into your hip, and you glanced down to see the bottle of Astroglide you snagged at the drug store before your trip, fooling Rose into thinking that you were picking up your allergy prescription. Strider grabbed it and rolled the bottle between his palms.

  
Blood flooded your face to the tips of your ears at that, but he distracted you by slinking down to kiss just below your belly button and non-existent happy trail.  
"Ah, Dad---"

  
You were aware of a click and the squelch of liquid, well until Strider went down on your shaft and lazily scraped his tongue down the length. No sensation had ever come relatively close to the wet heat encircling your sex, and you screamed out for him an incoherent jumble of syllables and bucked up. He held you down with a soothing hand on your lower stomach and took more of you in his mouth until his lips met your base. His other hand massaged at the back of your leg, moving in tight circles. His grip was awkward, but you couldn't put a finger on why.

  
He hummed contentedly around you.

  
Trying to bite back the moan that leapt into your throat at that, you’ve decided you’ve had enough of your restraints and weaseled your way out of your scarf completely and thrust your hands back into his hair. You weren’t sure if you had ever felt anything softer and –

  
“EEEP!”

  
Yes, that was the sound of you shrieking like a little girl as Strider grazed your… well he touched you _there._

  
“Easy, Kid. You okay?”

  
He didn’t sound mad, at least he didn’t sound mad.

  
“It was just really cold, I’m sorry…”

  
Strider’s lips twisted up into the most ironic sympathy you’ve seen and he pressed them into yours. “Hey, no apologies, babe.”

  
You nod and let him kiss at your neck, down to your collar bone – while he starts to massage your ass cheek in firm kneads – and then he’s peppering little butterfly kisses to your chest, so light and _wow_ you didn’t know you could be that ticklish. Then you inhale sharply as he rubs now _warm_ lube over your entrance with warm hands and it may be kind of weird but gosh Strider makes it feel fan-fucking-tastic. Until this point, you’ve never considered any sort of entering through your back door, firmly keeping up with the “I Am Not A Homosexual,” shtick, but here you were letting your god rub you down and _OH YES_ he was finger deep inside you, rotating and massaging and doing Hell knows what.

  
But it was fucking great and you were melting against him.

  
“Strider~ Strider~ Strider~ Ah,” instinctively your hips rode down on his finger, prompting him to slide in another, slippery finger.

  
You’d heard this was supposed to hurt, but Strider was being so slow and gentle, winding in lose circles that made your vision flicker in ecstasy.

  
“John, call me Dave.”

  
You freeze up – body clamping around him – NO ONE used Strider’s real name, he didn’t use it, he didn’t answer when people asked him.  
It was a huge gift, one that if you dwelled on you might just pass out right there.

  
“Dave… Thank you.”

  
Lips were merged to seal off more jumbled words and there was no telling where you ended and Dave began. His hands ghosted over your hips, stroking and caressing before he parted your legs and rested between them. His shaft was a hot brand against your flank and you arched eagerly. This had gone on long enough and you needed him inside you.

  
"Dave," you sighed on the softest of breaths, letting him hear just how much he meant to your world.

  
"Are you ready, John?"

  
You couldn’t be more ready. The arousal had built up to the point that you needed tangible substance desperately lest the rolling thrums of your blood and need caused you dick to become even more rigid which you were one hundred percent sure would make you die. The reassurance of his name at your tongue eased away any virginal doubts. You could handle the supposed pain, you could handle the fear. Dave Strider held you gently and bore his deep gaze into.

  
“Yes, please,” you breathed softly, a sigh leaving you as you gave in and let yourself relax.

  
Dave thumbed the pout of your mouth as his other hand dropped to push your legs back. You took the hint and parted you thighs as wide as you could, open for him. Strider’s hand left your flesh and the sensation was replaced by a soft, wet heat between the globes of your ass. A spark of excitement leapt though your breast and into your extremities, left hand throbbing with some unknown pain that stemmed from your heart.

  
“Relax, I won’t hurt you.”

  
You nod and feel a pressure build up between your legs, the heat on the heels of pain as his head is eased inside, thick and hotter than anything you’ve ever contacted. Teeth are sunk into your lips, and you realize they belong to you, sawing at the lower as the intensity rises. The feeling of being filled is almost too much to bear as the pain of being forced open by the stark burn of Strider’s sex and your breaths hitch harder the deeper he goes.

  
Strider’s lips meet yours. “Easy babe, easy.”

  
That was easier said than done but you will yourself to relax. Strider’s hand drops to rub lazy circles around your head, smearing the beaded liquid that pooled at your tip. It drew out a small whimper that increased into a full whine when Strider’s hips met flush with yours. He panted hard, head dipped and face hidden from sight.

  
“ _Woah_ you’re tight.”

  
You can’t even whimper a coherent response. You hurt, but he was inside of you fully. Strider remained still, and you were pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to thrust and make you go crazy from the friction that would build with the motion.

  
Strider brushed your hair back and kissed at your throat. It made you shiver despite the heat consuming your entire being. His tongue slid up from your collar bone to your ear, licking away the salty mist of your sweat, before tracing the shell with the tip and giving it a soft nip. His voice was a warm rasp that made your nerves twinge.  
“Ready for me to move? I wanna stretch your tight hole so bad.”

  
He smirks at your moan and grips your hips when you buck. “I’ll take that as a yes, John.”

  
He withdraws from you, making your breath hitch at the sudden lurch in your gut, but he’s grabbing one of your hands and lacing your fingers in reassurance. When he pushes back in your gut gives another lurch and you whimper. You don’t want the embarrassment of telling him it hurts, that you’re uncomfortable.

  
“D-dave,” you pant, squeezing his hand tight.

  
“Hold on, babe, it’ll get better, I swear.”

  
You register Dave picking the lower half of your body to tilt your hips and his cock is forcing the walls of your body wide. He grunts and drives his hips down into you and FUCK celestial stars exploded into the black space of you closed lids, stellar pleasure almost making you white out.

  
“Found it,” Dave’s voice is lit with his amused smirk. “I’m gonna make you scream.”

  
You soon realize Strider was going to make good on his promise when he continued thrusting into whatever spot he had found. It was the most amazing sensation ever. It was every single amazing thing he had done to you tonight wrapped into a little bundle of nerves that he was jamming his cock into over and over to make you relive each stunning touch, burst of pleasure.

  
Strider was setting of a string of nuclear flare-ups off through your body, teasing through your core, your chest, making your heart thunder hard.

  
“Dave, Dave, Dave,” you arch up, licking your lips against your lost, blissed out euphoria. “I love this, you’re amazing, fuck, fuck, FUCK~!”

  
You hear a chuckle and guess it’s because of your shit dialogue in the back of your head, but you couldn’t give a damn because he’s not stopping and the sounds of his thighs smacking against your flesh would put the divine songs of angels to shame. Strider presses your thighs into your chest, gaining leverage. Your eyes open long enough to see his carmine orbs disappear behind wiry lashes, thick and seventy shades of blonde splintered with brown. His reaction is gorgeous from the gentle swoon of his lids to the full part of his lips when he panted for you, lost in you. He was taking his pleasure from your and moaning for you.

  
Your god, you were his pleasure, worshipping him with your body. You gave him the one thing you had, your purity. It wasn’t much, but he would always be your first. It was enough for you.

  
“John,” he sighs softly, “I’m going to mark you.”

  
You gave no protest, only more tender moans. His lips murmured over your chest and then he was sucking bright red love-marks over any expanse of soft skin he could get a hold of.

  
“Dave, I can’t take it,” his thrusts had increased in speed and force, torturing THAT spot, “I’m gonna burst!”

  
“Don’t hold back, John,” Strider croons, “I want to watch you come for me.”

  
His long finger wrapped around your pulsing shaft, barely stroking. You didn’t need the added stimulus to get off but the touch brought your high that much quicker. You didn’t want to climax, you didn’t want this wild intensity to end. You felt like a thin paper cup being filled with water, rising, rising until you couldn’t hold anymore and you capsized underneath the pleasure’s enormity. Dave was bucking hard and fast, trying to get himself off as you hovered on the brink, terrified of falling off your edge.  
“Dave, I, I’m COMING!”

  
Your scream was drowned out by the blood thundering in you ears. Your pleasure came hard, forcing your body into and arching bow. The waves of your orgasm crested, your body tensing and relaxing with each one.

  
You realized you were milking Dave to his own climax.

  
Strider stilled above you, breaths coming hard while his eyes flickered behind his lids. His body gave a hard shudder and then a buck, making him grunt and bite his lip. He rode out his orgasm slowly, shallowly thrusting.

  
Each of you gave one final hard breath and stilled, silence settling in.

  
Dave spoke first after several unbearable moments of silence. “That was amazing.”

  
He pulled out, drawing a whimper from you – that hurt – and pulled the condom off, knotting it and tossing it on the floor. After a bit of adjusting he was laying behind you, cock between your thighs, holding you. “How do you feel?”

  
It took you awhile to find your voice, to even be aware of your surroundings. His embrace was easy to relax into.  
“I… that was too perfect for words. I’m not even sure that was real or even just happened.”

  
Dave gives your ass a little pinch and you jolt. “Looks like you’re not dreaming,” he smiles and gives you a little kiss.

  
You could melt, you could die right here in his arms and all would be perfect. Never would you have guessed that you would get to see your salvation in concert, and a step further meet him in person.

  
But you had just lost your virginity to DJ Dave Strider, who was tender and passionate, just like his deepest lyrics. This man’s music let you escape from the pain in life, let you drown out all the pain that came from being a social out cast with almost no friends, from watching your dad try to hide his depression from you. Strider let you run away from life if only for a moment.

  
“Thank you,” your voice broke and you realized you had teared up. Great, you were going to be the guy who cried after sex. Perfect.  
Dave just kissed your eyes. “When I saw you in the crowd, you looked so lost, so absorbed in the beats, the rhymes. Fuck, Kid, you reminded me so much of myself when I was sitting up late at night, listening to my Bro mix and scratch, muttering lyrics to himself. That was, that was a really long time ago.”  
There was emotion in his voice that you couldn’t place.

  
You roll over to face him, absorbing and burning into memory his eyes, the way his almost nostalgic smile rose all the way into the glowing orbs. “You’re too amazing. And that’s not a bad thing. Just… wow.”

  
Dave laughs and pushes your bangs back. “I’m just a normal guy, John. I’m just Dave.”

  
“Well I think you’re cool,” your words slur a bit. You didn’t realize how tired you were until he pulled the blankets over you.

  
“Thanks, John.”

  
It was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep.

%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%*%

“You’re finally up, wow."

  
It takes you a long, long time to register where you are. You’re cold and sore, and you feel like you’re wrongfully alone, though you don’t know why. You manage to sit up –wow it hurt to do that- and look around. You’re in the hotel room, in what was supposed to be Rose’s bed. You were naked, save for your red and white briefs. You don’t remember putting those on.

  
“Hey, Earth to John?”

  
You glance over to see Rose. She’s still in her pajamas but it’s quite evident that she’s been up for some time. It wasn’t often that you saw her without make up, however.

  
“Oh, uh, hey Rosie.”

  
“The depth of your slumber was shocking to say the least. How shitfaced did you get last night?”

  
Last night.

  
The events came flooding back to you, Dave, all of him, the kissing, the touching. You fell asleep in his arms.

  
Had it been a dream?

  
“I, I just came back and passed out. It was a long night, you know.” You didn’t know why you lied.

  
“There was a note left on the table, sure you didn’t bring someone back?”

  
“What!?” You almost fall off the bed you get back so fast. “Where is it?”

  
Rose points to the night stand.

  
You scoop the tiny scrap of paper up, or cardboard rather; it was the back of one of those cheap hotel note pads. The hand on it is messy, one you’ve never seen.

  
_Amidst disciples to my sickest beats_  
 _The Heir stood out and took my Breath_  
 _He brought Rapture down on this celluloid wasteland_  
 _Not knowing that his God was really his believer._  
(646) 555-8902  
dave.

  
“So, what does it mean? It’s like the shittiest poem ever.” Rose scoffs a little at your reaction.

  
With trembling lips you held the words to your breast. “It means the world.”

>END<


End file.
